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What
needed I open my eyes to see myself standing on asphalt, my surroundings lit only by a singular streetlamp. Kneeling down, I touched the ground, feeling each and every coarse bump on the ground. Not a dream. I look around to see nothing but pitch blackness. Weird. It is, isn’t it? I whip around to see the oh so familiar- Oh wait, it’s just more black behind me. Haha, funny, fucking cunt. A pair of eyes open a few meters away from me, slightly conceal by the dancing black fog, and a figure slowly walked into the light. He comes to a standstill a foot in front of me, back straight and the very same eyes darting up and down my body, and rubs his veiny hands together. He grins at me with a very familiar spine-chilling smile and deadpan eyes. Seeing my own body in front of me, I start to twiddle my fingers nervously. Maybe it shows on my face too. No, but I can feel it anyways. Although “nervousness” is an understatement, you think? Trying to act like a fucking no-balled hero? That won’t work on me. How would you kn- Actually, how are you… that? This? But this is me. Meanwhile, I’m still trying to fucking understand what you are. What do you mean “what I am?” And where the fuck am I? Again with this, every time you come back. I should just write a fucking note and leave it wherever you keep forming up. Look at yourself, if you can even consider yourself being able to see. I look down, and try to jump back from myself from the shock. And my view leaves my… body, seeing me and him from where I am now. He turns his head to where I am and I feel chills everywhere. I was a mess of black, no shadow where I loomed from, no shadow or light on my body, just a coagulated goop of black. No arms, no legs, no head. He reaches out for me, and flinches, pulling his hand back out. Cut cleanly from where it touched me. Yes. Yeah. That’s you. People fucking called me a monster for the mistakes I made, called me a monster for doing the only things I could do, called me a monster for being me. So what if I fucking do one thing wrong, does that give you the right to push me slowly over the edge? Does that fucking mean that everybody fucking ever should never associate themselves with me? It’s as if I suddenly lost all rights as a human, and instead should die as trash, right? He jabbed his stump at me, drops of blood spraying around. You’re the fucking monster, you know that? Just because you don’t know anything, you think you’re a perfectly normal person, thinking that you can just play around with my body. He slowly backed off, the eyes still glued to me I won’t stop fighting until I find out what you are. And when I finally do, I’m taking my fucking body back. Oh wait, why bother telling you this? It’s not like you remembered this the last twenty fucking times I told you this. He grins once more at me, before he disappears, along with the light.